Trigger warning! Guns, rude language, bad dudes.
Huxley had been a mess since he'd been dragged off the street on his gas station run, shaking and unable to stop tears from rolling down his cheeks. Well, that is, when they could make it past his blindfold. His hands were bound behind his back, uncomfortably situated against a cold wall and another cold floor.
"He isn't coming for me," Huxley called out, and his captor shifted to look at him. "Asher has better things to do." His voice cracked and he tried to clear his throat.
"You expect me to believe that little rat isn't going to come around for his boytoy?" He could hear something- a switchblade opening- and he inhaled sharply. "I'm just cleaning it. I won't hurt you."
The captor watched as Huxley seemed to immediately relax, sagging against the wall. It wasn't until then that he noticed the faint remnants on a bruise on his cheek.
"Well, that's new," Huxley responded quietly.
But Huxley didn't elaborate.
When hours passed and Huxley had slept and been fed, much to his embarrassment, he tried again.
"He isn't coming for me."
"Then I suppose we'll go to him." He could hear his captor stand and stride over, heavy steps coming closer until they stopped just in front of him. He flinched when fingers pulled at the edge of his blindfold, closing his eyes tightly when light hit them for the first time all day. It took him a moment to adjust, but when he did he found himself nervously looking up at none other than the most well known criminal in town.
Huxley knew him to be the unforgiving crime boss that had made his boyfriend (if you could even call him that) livid on the daily. He was aware that Asher had been into some seedy things, but making Evarhart of all people mad? It was truly a new low.
When Huxley found his voice finally it was small and faint.
"Please don't," was all he could manage. Huxley could only imagine the aftermath of being the reason Asher was inconvenienced for any reason- especially with Huxley being the leverage. For what, he wasn't exactly sure.
"Don't?" Evarhart crouched in front of his captive and raised a brow at him. "Don't hurt you? I told you-"
"Don't make him mad." He could hear his captive's voice shake, eyes full of something Evarhart was all too familiar with.
But Huxley's last plea appeared to be ignored as he was hoisted to his feet and dragged to a car. His hands were unbound and he knew better than to push this man, gracelessly climbing into the car and flexing his hands as he sat in the back seat. His captor sat next to him, serious and demanding respect by appearance alone, while another man drove them out of the business district and into the slums.
"What's your name, kid?" Evarhart watched as his captive seemed to shrink even more than before- he was so...small. Not in a derogatory way by any means, he just seemed so defenseless. So nervous and quiet. Even before he had gotten ahold of him outside the gas station the night before he had seen him around town and he always seemed so fragile.
"Huxley," he responded, eyes cast down. "Huxley Kibuya."
Evarhart only nodded as they arrived at their destination, climbing out of the car that felt almost too small for him. He pulled Huxley out after him, walking briskly to what Huxley could only assume was some designated meeting point. They took an elevator to the top of a fairly abandoned parking ramp and there he was- Asher.
"That's it?" He could hear the disdain in Asher's voice as he looked Huxley over from across the level, Evarhart keeping a tight grip on Huxley as they stopped.
"You don't want me to hurt him, do you?" Evarhart asked, though from his tone it sounded like he had taken Huxley's words to heart. This was going to get him nothing. Huxley was nothing.
"Please," Asher rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "He can take a beating. I'm not worried."
Huxley felt Evarhart's grip tighten, though it never became painful.
"Is that so? You're really going to keep my file and risk your boyfriend's wellbeing for that piece of work you call a boss?" Asher shrugged, hardly seeming interested.
"He cleans well, but..." Huxley's heart dropped. Asher was really going to put his crime over him. "He isn't willing to be a good little whore for me."
Huxley almost begged. He almost tried to reason, to barter, but he couldn't even find the words. He didn't want to give himself to Asher- he might not have kept his worth, but he wanted to at the very least keep his choice. Keep his love for someone that didn't give him away for a couple thousand dollars worth of information-
His breath caught in his throat when Evarhart produced a gun from his side.
"That's all I needed to know." Before Huxley could react Evarhart released him only to press his hand into his back, pulling him close and shoving his face into his chest while a gun shot rang out around them.
Huxley was frozen, body rigid as he clung to Evarhart. There was nothing but the ringing in his ears until he finally began to turn his head, knowing what he was about to find across the level, but Evarhart turned his head back into his chest.
"Don't. He isn't worth the mental scarring." Huxley felt strangely thankful, allowing himself to be led away. He wanted to feel bad, to feel remorse for losing Asher, but instead all he felt was relief.
